[Feebly, quietly, JimBere laughs. There is silence; but the
bell is heard still
ranging.]

Curtain.

SCENE II

The same-in daylight dying fast.
A lamp is burning on the bar. A chair has
been placed in the centre of the room, facing the
bench under the window, on which are seated from
right to left, Godleigh, Sol Potter the village
shopman, Trustaford, Burlacombe, Freman,
Jim Bere, and Morse the blacksmith. Clyst
is squatting on a stool by the bar, and at the
other end Jarland, sobered and lowering, leans
against the lintel of the porch leading to the
door, round which are gathered five or six sturdy
fellows, dumb as fishes. No one sits in the chair.
In the unnatural silence that reigns, the distant
sound of the wheezy church organ and voices singing
can be heard.

TAUSTAFORD. [After a prolonged clearing of his throat]
What I mean to zay is that ‘tes no yuse, not
a bit o’ yuse in the world, not duin’
of things properly. If an’ in case we’m
to carry a resolution disapprovin’ o’
curate, it must all be done so as no one can’t,
zay nothin’.

SolPotter. That’s what I zay,
Mr. Trustaford; ef so be as ’tis to be a village
meetin’, then it must be all done proper.